


Breaking like the porcelain you threw

by bookl0ver



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Kidnapping, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookl0ver/pseuds/bookl0ver
Summary: Callum’s struggling.Alone.Just as he deserves.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Breaking like the porcelain you threw

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking. 
> 
> Warnings: Flashbacks, nightmares, idnapping, violence, deafness, negativity, self-hatred, PTSD, suicidal thoughts (mentioned briefly but may be triggering) 
> 
> If any of these things may be triggering please feel free to not read this. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_He was back there. He could feel it, the cold wrapped around his body like the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Cloth over his mouth, suffocated. Rattle and clicks of chains the only sound other than his forced breaths through his nose._

_He was back in the warehouse._

_Immediately he tried to struggle, pull against the bindings. He hadn’t been able to struggle free before, maybe he could this time. The chains were still taut in their position, not loosened for a beating. He couldn’t see the rusted table he’d used to get out, where was it? He had to get out, he couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t go through it again, not again, please god not again._

_Footsteps echoed and his stomach dropped. Those sounds would be burned into his memory forever, thick boots against concrete, up the creaking metal stairs and eventually they’d connect with his ribs, make them bend and ache in agony for weeks to come, and there was nothing he could do._

_The figure appeared, he couldn’t make out his face in the darkness, could only see that familiar puffer jacket as he tried to control his breathing._

_“Ben needs some motivation.”_

_He remembered those words, remembered what they’d preceded before and he fought harder, squirming and struggling as the chains were fiddled with enough for his body to be thrown flat on the ground as the first punch hit. No, no please no, he couldn’t take it again, please help, somebody help please, stop stop -_

“No!” 

Callum shot up, sweat drenched and panting. It was dark, where was he? Was he still there, still tied up and helpless? Blindly he touched beneath him, pressing his hands into the soft fabric of his duvet. The feeling didn’t drive away the panic and terror looping through his brain, but he at least found himself able to understand what had happened. 

He could still feel it though, the chill of that place, the bindings cutting into his skin, dirt and grime caking every inch of his aching body. Shakily, he pulled himself out of bed, and only then noticed the figure next to him. 

Ben, fast asleep. Of course, he wouldn’t have heard. For the best, Callum reminded himself as he stumbled to the bathroom, knowing that trying to sleep when he was covered in sweat and trembling was pointless. It was for the best. Ben had been through enough, guilt over nearly losing Callum, losing his little brother and his hearing all in one fell swoop. And with his operation having been delayed, his boyfriend’s problems only piled up. Callum didn’t need to add on to them. 

He started up the shower, uncaring of the late hour, Ben the only other occupant. Max had baby Abby so Stuart and Rainie had ran off for a dirty week away in Margate. Ruefully he smiled, remembering how it felt to be so carefree and easy with your lover, when impromptu plans were made readily and easily. Now everything had to be planned. Ben wouldn’t admit it but he didn’t like going out anywhere anymore, not wanting to miss out on conversation or look weak. And Callum, for all his encouragement was relieved. He didn’t want to go out and deal with people he thought were harmless, thought had empathy and kindness in their hearts, only to have them turn and unleash pain onto him. 

The nightmare and the memories associated came back then and he clenched his eyes shut, turning up the temperature of the shower until it was almost painful, his skin reddening rapidly. He didn’t want to remember. 

Didn’t want to remember the fear the helplessness, the mind-numbing pain as hunger and thirst developed, intensified by his bruises and the savage beating he’d received as punishment for daring to love an imperfect man. Brain treacherous, it dredged up the memories of how he’d laid on the rubbish pile for what he now knew to be at least two agonising days, his body so weak from everything it had endured he couldn’t call for the help that he’d been able to hear distantly. If he’d stayed put, his mind supplied cruelly, as it had then, he’d have been found sooner, would have been able to yell and make noise if only he had just waited and trusted Ben to save him. 

But Ben didn’t come for him, did he, that first day. No, that was Shirley. He’d seen her once since and she’d actually hugged him, apologising in a soft voice she only used on Olly. Another person his utter stupidity had damaged and hurt. 

Shaking his head fiercely he ducked under the water, letting the spray wash away the sweat sticking to his hair. He opened his eyes and let the water sting them, watched the way his hair hung down over his forehead and drops dripped from it. Finally he felt clean, and stepped out of the shower, shivering at the comparative chill of the bathroom. Grabbing some towels, he wrapped one around his waist, another on top of his head and carried the rest into the living room. 

Sleep was beyond reach now; he knew that. His body practically throbbed with exhaustion, this pattern forming having kept his sleep to a minimum. Television switched on he made to turn down the volume before remembering it didn’t matter. Ben couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear his boyfriend screaming in terror in the middle of the night, didn’t care enough to check on him or feel his absence from the – 

That wasn’t fair, he reminded himself. Ben was suffering too. It wasn’t malice on his part, it was many things. He couldn’t hear him because he’d lost his hearing trying to get answers about Callum’s whereabouts so he could save him. He didn’t feel his absence because the constant ringing in his ears had driven him to take sleeping pills, the only way to make it stop, get some respite. He shouted at Callum because he was scared and it was all Callum’s fault really, wasn’t it? If he’d fought Keanu, if he’d tried harder to escape, if he’d stayed where he was tied up, if he was better, a better man, a better soldier, a better boyfriend, none of this would be happening. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared unseeing at the TV, body swaddled in towels and a blanket. This was all his fault, all of the pain and suffering he and Ben were going through was on him. 

Because he was panicked and terror stricken, a trembling, pathetic mess. He deserved it, the nightmares and the flashbacks, the inability to sleep or feel safe anywhere but in Ben’s – now very rare and reluctant – arms. Of course his boyfriend didn't want to hold him anymore, he could probably sense how fucked up he was. He could only be grateful that nobody knew, that he'd hidden his failure, his lack of strength so well. 

At least he was good at something, even if it was lying through his teeth. 

As he sat there, one final thought that he had entertained many nights since the ordeal that simultaneously felt like a lifetime ago and like it was still happening, entered his mind. 

Keanu should have done them all a favour, and killed him when he had the chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Let me know what you think, comments and kudoa are always welcome.
> 
> Have a great day!


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